


The Gilded Mirror

by Samara_Vellano



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Death, Demonic Possession, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samara_Vellano/pseuds/Samara_Vellano
Summary: A young woman finds a beautiful mirror, unaware of what lies within.
Kudos: 2





	The Gilded Mirror

One day at a local bazaar, a small young woman was walking home from her work as a stall keeper’s assistant. The long days in the acrid smoke of the bazaar have weathered her skin, and for a girl fresh into her twentieth year she already looks to be well into her thirties. Dusky, rough skin blends with a simple cloth tunic, and her hair is frayed and unkempt—perhaps straight by nature, but frizzled to such a point as to look no better than a gorilla’s coat.

As she walks along the alley path, winding and waning towards the waterfront district where a shack mere feet from the central canal of the city holds what little possessions she has to her name, a glint catches her eye. Off to the side, beneath a pile of dust and garbage, a bright light calls her attention. She stops, kneeling down to see what’s creating such a glow; she finds a mirror, encrusted with gemstones and flawless, weighty gold. The dust slides effortlessly off of the pristine glass as she lifts it by its mahogany handle, seeing her reflection.

Normally, she’s mildly repulsed by her looks—so many beautiful women come to the bazaar and shop, while she must sit there, smile, and know they have something she’ll never obtain—looks, status, wealth and adoration. But, this time...she likes what she sees. Her hair isn’t as bad as she had thought; and the light gives her skin a warmth, as opposed to a dull sheen from the drying sweat of the day. Still a dirty peasant woman; but one with...an inner fire. Charm beneath the guise, the ‘je ne sais quoi’ that not everyone is blessed with.

While she enjoys the sight of such a fine thing in her hands, the woman thinks more rationally for a moment. She could sell this. It’s clearly well-made, and she could not have to worry about money for quite a long time...but, then a striking realization hits her. They’d think her a thief. No one comes into something this nice, from as low a station as she has unless they steal it; true or false, that’s what people would think. A stab of dejection comes across her mind, but as her eyes drift back to her reflection, she sees herself once more. She does not see a thief; if others wish to think of her as such, then she’ll simply keep the mirror and enjoy its sight—and her own. Perhaps she’ll even try rinsing her hair tonight…

It’s been a week since the girl found her most prized possession, and the week has been one of the best ones she can remember. Falling asleep with the gleaming thing in hand, waking up to the sight of her peaceful expression, it’s given her confidence. Confidence enough to smile more, genuinely; to try speaking up instead of nodding and looking to the stall owner when a customer asks about an item; even complimenting some of those beautiful women who stop by. They still look down at her all the same, but she doesn’t mind as much as she used to—she knows when she gets home at the end of the day, she gets to look into a mirror as regal as any of them might have. Indeed, it’s as if the mirror being so wonderfully crafted could make anything look better; she could swear that her hair’s been hanging a little straighter, a little fuller. But, she has been washing it nightly, so it’s certainly just that.

What a day! What a way to end the day! As happy as one could be, she practically skips down the familiar path to home—someone had complimented her! Just some farmer looking for a tapestry for his wife, but he said she had such a nice smile—and pretty teeth, too! The girl can’t remember the last time she had unbidden praise come to her; and she was already doing fine that day, so it wasn’t as if it was a pity compliment! Oh, she’s almost tempted to visit one of the many evening bars in the city’s nicer districts—not to go in of course, they’d never allow her; but to just, be near such enjoyable, lovely people and perhaps envision what she’d be like if she were one of them...Maybe. She’ll have to take ample time clearing her hair free of grime and dust though!

Two weeks pass, and now the girl sits, nude in the canal where she lives—the hour is late, and she feels secure enough to douse herself without fear of lecherous men—or worse. Her hands run through sleek, full locks of sable strands that flow from her scalp, finding them to feel as soft as any of those nobles she sees at the stall. They run down, guiding more water along her chest...and she pauses. She’s washed herself here many times in the past, and she always follows the same routine; the same motions. So much so, that she picks up the slightest of differences...such as how her hands curve more than they normally do. She runs them back up, over her chocolate nipples—shivering as her rough hands begin to stir those twin nubs. They...her bosom, it definitely feels fuller...she makes a note to check herself in the mirror. It’s always nice to have another perspective, after all.

After she’s dried off, the girl slips back inside, not even bothering to put her sack of a dress on—after all, she’ll be taking it off in a minute anyway. Inside, she goes straight for the mirror, placing a hand on her hips as she angles the reflective glass, keeping part of her face in the frame as she takes a gander at her figure. It’s still thin, but...no longer does she look scrawny. By her gaze, svelte; perhaps even supple—where it counts, at least? And while her more private areas of flesh have always looked fairly clean due to being covered most of the time...maybe it’s the fire, but she looks positively glowing right now. Petite yet attractive, full locks of hair, a face that exudes confidence...perhaps it’s time to take a chance.

Nearly a month since that day where in retrospect, she marks as the day her life started turning around, the former stall assistant walks towards the hookah bar. She’d seen this one a few times, from a distance, always working, never loitering—that was for those who had time on their hands and enough money to shut anyone up who’d ask them to move, if they even dared to ask. Now? In a rich, dark purple gown with gold embroidery—‘borrowed’ from the stall of a brute of a seamstress; it was better that she, someone with character, charm and class got it than one of those arrogant twats that danced around the bazaar, flaunting their hollow looks and attempts to distract from plain features. You can dress up a pig, it’s still a pig. You can cover a diamond in shit, it’s still a diamond.

This diamond in flesh, taking the first steps into the smoky, dimly lit bar, knows just what she is. It’s a shame she took this long; a shame she stood her former employer up—but tonight, she knows things will be different for her. With enough confidence in herself to talk down to an Empress and the poise to know not to do such a thing, the night passes as none other have for her before. Smiling with flawless, numerous teeth, flashing her naturally divine eyelashes; and of course, plenty of times to admire herself in her mirror, kept with her at all times now. Others occasionally want to see it and she lets them view themselves in it; never telling them no, but always being the one to hold it. It’s hers, after all. They never look as good as she does, though…

Things have gone better than she had hoped. She had not only managed to attract the eye of a wealthy trader—young, rising in influence, handsome to boot—but he had requested her to spend the evening with him! They were getting along, drinking, smoking...and what he had just whispered in her ear told her she had to seize this moment. A night of pleasure, with such a rising star...Asking for just a moment to freshen up, the girl departs with a sultry wink, eagerly stepping just outside the bar as she takes her mirror from the folds of her gown, staring deep into the glass while she primps her hair.

“Beautiful, aren’t you?” A voice in her head asks. It’s deep yet feminine, warped yet enticing...but not a natural allure. Something...otherworldly. She freezes in place, unable to look away from the mirror even as unease fills her psyche. She finds she can’t even move at all...forced to look at that mirror. The hair, her figure, her newfound boldness...suddenly she realizes the true source. “So beautiful...and so fortunate to have found me...or did I find you?” Every word spoken within her mind is another spike of anxiety, rousing further terror within her. As the voice pauses, relishing the growing panic within the frozen girl, she continues—relishing the sight of fear in those large eyes. “You’ve done well for yourself...or,” it says with a self-indulgent chuckle, “Should I say myself?”

Pure terror overtakes the girl as she opens her mouth to scream, a lifetime of wants, hopes, dreams and goals flooding her mind in an instant—before being devoured, along with her very soul. The pain lasts for an eternity and an instant, her last moments of existence felt as Hell, while being able to remember nothing but that final moment.

“Yes,” the girl’s body says, her voice just a little deeper, more befitting a seductress than a young woman but still the same voice, “I think I should.” The demon tosses the blackened, gnarled mirror off to the side, where it breaks with barely a noise and a swirling puff of dark mist that soon fades into the night. Gliding forward with smooth, practiced steps that accentuate, entice and flaunt as only a being that’s learned how to do all at once over countless years could, the girl slips back into the bar, finding the trader this body’s former owner was so kind enough to bring to her.

He looks over just as she takes a seat, smiling as he offers her a nozzle from the hookah. “I was wondering where you went, you were gone for longer than I thought.” An amused smile from her follows suit, “Does beauty this good look like it’s done in an instant?” She asks with a wink. “I suppose not. You know, I make it a point to never learn the names of women I intend to bed for just the night.” The demon in a dead girl’s body seizes on the unspoken words, leaning in to whisper into the man’s ear.

“Lucretia.”


End file.
